Frogspawn and its Side Effects
by Kitty-Chou
Summary: A potion gone wrong leads to something...unexpected. An ongoing dark comedy about love, hate, friendship, and a Dark Lord named Voldemort.
1. Cruel and Unfair

Title: Frogspawn and its Side Effects  
  
Author: Kitty Chou  
  
Category: Drama, humor, romance, death  
  
Pairing: Harry/Snape  
  
Rating: PG-13...maybe R  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I make no money off them, and I promise to clean them up when I'm done.  
  
Authors Note: Alright, I liked the Googlism challenge enough to come out of lurking and post out of my usual fandom. Muahahaha. My first Harry Potter fic. Beware.  
  
Summary: In response to the Googlism Challenge from a very long time ago that was issued on the Veela Inc Mailing List. My Googlism: 'Snape is an ugly git'. A potion goes wrong.

Chapter One: "Cruel and Unfair" 

'Snape is an ugly git.'  
  
Harry looked at the words critically before drawing a line through them.  
  
'Snape is a REALLY ugly git.'  
  
This too was crossed out and replaced by, 'Snape is the ugliest git in the whole world. Followed by Dudley as a close second.'  
  
Harry snorted and crossed this out as well, propping his head up on one hand as he studied the scroll of parchment that was to be his Potions assignment. Three feet on the uses, origins, and magical side effects of frogspawn. Just because he'd dumped all his frogspawn in his Wart Removal potion, instead of slowly stirring it in over time as the directions on the blackboard had said.  
  
The blackboard _hadn't_ said that the potion would explode. Nor did it state that whoever _happened_ to be splashed with it would receive genital warts. So really, it wasn't his fault at all that Professor Snape _happened_ to be coming over to inform him of this so that when the potion exploded, it _happened_ to explode all over the Potions Master. Luckily, Harry knew the signs of an exploding potion by now, having blown up enough of his own to last a lifetime, and ducked behind the nearest person, who _happened_ to be Malfoy, in order to avoid getting splashed.  
  
He wasn't actually sure how Malfoy had come to be standing nearby, but considered it a stroke of good luck he'd rather not question. After all, who better to give genital warts to than your archrival? However, it was better not to give them to your hated Potions professor, as he could: A) deduct one hundred points from Gryffindor, B) give everyone (save Malfoy, as he was, "a victim of Potter's unending stupidity") three feet of parchment to write on frogspawn before next Tuesday, and C) give Harry a weeks worth of detention going _over_ the Hogsmead weekend since it was Friday and to top it all off, he was going to give them _personally_ for once instead of shipping him off to clean trophies with Filch.  
  
It was cruel. It was unfair. It was worth it to see Malfoy wince and adjust himself periodically, but not enough to keep Harry from sinking into what Hermione liked to call a 'black mood'. Which was unfair, really. It wasn't as though he was constantly sinking into pits of oozing despair. Well, there was his fifth year in general, but they didn't talk about that anymore by unspoken agreement.  
  
"Harry," Hermione began in a disapproving tone, from where she was just finishing the last few inches of her scroll, "you have _detention_. You're going to get in trouble. _We're_ going to get in trouble."  
  
"Snape can blow it out his ear, for all I care," Harry muttered irritably, but reluctantly got to his feet. He waved halfheartedly to Ron and Hermione, nodded at Neville, and threw a rude gesture towards the sniggering Seamus and Dean before ducking through the portrait hole and stepping into the hallway beyond. He looked quickly around the moment he was through, checking to be sure Peeves wasn't floating in the corridor, ready to drench an unsuspecting student with his new batch of Hare to There tonic, which turned you into a very large, very pink rabbit.  
  
Sometimes Harry hated Fred and George Weasley.  
  
The walk to the dungeons was uneventful, if too short for Harry's taste, and he soon found himself standing before the door to the Potions classroom, wondering how much his housemates would hate him if he ran back down the corridor and hid in the kitchens for the next week. After all, it was his graduating year, and there were only so many months left and who really cared about winning the House Cup this year anyway?  
  
However, before Harry could flee into the night, the door opened, revealing an extremely sour looking Potions Master. Not that Snape ever looked anything but sour.  
  
"Mr. Potter," he began in that tone designed to frighten small children, "are you ill?"  
  
"No, sir?" Harry replied, voice heavy with confusion.  
  
"Do you suffer from an affliction to your legs?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Have you lost all ability to tell time?"  
  
"No, sir." Harry sighed as he suddenly realized where this was going.  
  
"Good. Ten points from Gryffindor for failure to appreciate the art of being punctual. Do come inside." He turned, cloaks billowing and strode away into the classroom.  
  
Harry had a sudden urge to ask how his gentile warts were faring.  
  
"Yes, sir," he said instead and followed reluctantly, closing the door behind him. He stood there and waited to see what was to be his cruelly unfair detention was to be, for he had no doubt in his mind that it would be cruel and unfair. After all, it was Professor Snape.  
  
The worktables before him were cleared and cleaned to a shine despite all the explosions of the day. All except one anyway. The one occupied worktable bore a cauldron and a layout of neatly organized ingredients that looked rather familiar. When it occurred to him they were the same ingredients he'd used earlier that day to bestow the gift of warts to the private areas of Malfoy and Snape, it was all he could do to hold back a groan.  
  
Snape smiled nastily, coming to stand before the worktable. "Mr. Potter," he began, sweeping his long hands to gesture at the setup in what Harry considered a terribly overdramatic way. "As it has come to my attention on many occasions before now that you lack the ability to understand written direction, simple though it may be. As such, I have taken it upon myself to spend the next week verbally directing you.  
  
"For the remainder of this week, you will not brew potions in my class and instead spend your time studying the history and theory behind each one, as I sincerely doubt you do so. Each potion shall then be brewed under my supervision and direction in detention that evening. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"Yes, sir," he replied, though it was grated out from behind clenched teeth and he was sure his face had gone either pale or red. Maybe both.  
  
He was supposed to brew potions with Snape hovering over him the entire time?! At least in Potions there were twenty odd other students helping to distract his attention! Surely he had some of Neville's cauldrons that needed scrubbing? Or floors? Or tables? Or even shoes?! It was cruel, it was unfair, and it was going to be hell.  
  
The smirk on Snape's pale face seemed to agree with that sentiment.

-----

"No, you fool boy! _Gradually!_ As in progressively over time!" Snape snapped, grabbing his hand as he very nearly made the same mistake he'd made earlier that day.  
  
Harry glowered at his professor, but stopped dumping in frogspawn irritably, pulling his hand free and away from the Potions Master, grumbling a halfhearted apology. Snape glared down his nose at him, but released his hand and folded his arms imposingly, watching as Harry began adding the frogspawn _gradually_ like he'd instructed.  
  
When every last sickly spongy piece had been slowly stirred in, the potion turned from a sluggish brown to a deep magenta, giving up a puff of powdery white smoke that smelled of lilies. Harry's nose twitched as he breathed it in and there was the sudden faint tickle of an oncoming sneeze.  
  
Snape had been observing the magenta potion with something close to a smile when he heard the usual intake of breath that occurred just before a massive, and probably very satisfying, sneeze. He looked up at him in horror, reaching out to shove him violently away.  
  
"NO, you idiot!" he shouted, but it was too late. Arms cart wheeling as he fell backwards from Snape's push, he sneezed loudly, a glimmering spray of spittle leaving his mouth to fall like rain upon the potion.  
  
He landed hard on his backside with a yelp as a faint rumble came from the cauldron, followed by a massive explosion, which gave off the almost anticlimactic sound of, "POOF." Harry shielded his face reflexively; glad he'd been knocked to the floor now despite his sore posterior, which had objected to the rough treatment. Thick plumes of pinkish smoke filled the room and he coughed, squinting through the rosy haze.  
  
"P-Professor Snape?" he called tremulously, wondering how badly he'd botched things for Gryffindor this time. There was no answer. Waving away the rapidly clearing pink cloud, he stood, peering at the cauldron, which had been reduced to a fine, silver powder. There was no sign of the Potions Master.  
  
"Oh...bollocks. This will definitely get me kicked off the Quiddich team again..." he lamented, heaving a heavy sigh as he searched for some remnant of his Potions professor.  
  
"Really, Mr. Potter," came Snape's sarcastic drawl, causing Harry to jump. "You're heartfelt concern is touching."  
  
"Professor?" he asked, looking around. Snape's voice sounded strange...softer and hoarse, like a croak. Finding no sign of him he put a hand on the worktable, peering under it, just in case. Sure enough, there on the floor was a pile of familiar black robes and two lumps, which looked to be the Potions Master's shoes. Harry blinked at them, wondering if he'd somehow turned Snape invisible like in some Muggle movie.  
  
"In here, you fool boy," he snapped in that same hoarse croak. The clothing moved and he jumped, banging his head hard on the table and sitting back on the floor again, staring at the moving pile in astonishment. Something pushed it's way from out of the folds of cloth, glaring at him with large bulging eyes. Harry gawked.  
  
"P-Professor?!" he squeaked, eyes wide and staring.  
  
"You, Mr. Potter," Snape seethed, hopping toward him. "Are in serious trouble."  
  
The croaking voice of his professor had come from a small, black frog, which jumped onto his knee and glared.  
  
--TBC--  
  
So, there it is. The first chapter of my first story outside my usual fandom of writing. Yes, I am a comment whore, so give it to me, baby! 


	2. A Frog Called Professor

Title: Frogspawn and its Side Effects  
  
Author: Kitty Chou  
  
Category: Drama, humor, romance, death  
  
Pairing: Harry/Snape  
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I make no money off them, and I promise to clean them up when I'm done.  
  
Authors Note: Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback! And special thanks to Kafers who is my British dictionary!   
  
Summary: A botched potion results in the unexpected.  
  
Chapter Two: "A Frog Called Professor"  
  
It took Harry about ten minutes to grasp that his Potions professor was now a frog. He wasn't even sure _why_ it was so hard for him to comprehend, especially considering that his Transfigurations Professor regularly became a tabby cat. The fact that he'd obviously done it didn't really strike a chord in him either...after all he'd once blown up his aunt and during one particularly trying duel during a DA meeting, turned Hermione into a bucktoothed beaver.  
  
He suspected she never quite forgave him for that.  
  
Harry wondered if it was the fact that Snape was _talking_ to him that bothered him so much, as he'd never come across an animal, wizard or otherwise, who ever had. Well, except for snakes of course, but that was an entirely different matter altogether.  
  
"While I'm sure the inner workings of your plebian mind are utterly fascinating, Mr. Potter," Snape commented snidely in his little croaky voice. "This is a matter of some urgency. Take me to see the Headmaster, at once!"  
  
He refrained from asking whether or not Snape knew the sound of a frog hitting a stone wall.

-----  
  
Ironically the current password to Dumbledore's office, of which Snape reluctantly informed him, was, "chocolate frog". It was all Harry could do not to laugh. Being slightly panicked helped.  
  
He knocked on the door softly after having gone up the winding stair, Snape clutched in his hand. In his non-knocking hand of course, though Harry could freely admit, it was tempting.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" he called, fidgeting slightly.  
  
The door opened on its own and Dumbledore smiled at him merrily from behind his desk, getting up. "Ah, Harry, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"  
  
"Well you see-" Snape interrupted him.  
  
"Headmaster! Look what the boy has done to me! This cannot go unpunished, I demand retribution!" he croaked furiously, squirming in Harry's hand. That wasn't fair, Harry thought, it wasn't as if he had _meant _to turn the greasy git into a frog...  
  
Dumbledore got up from his desk, coming over to them and leaned over, smiling at Snape. "I see you have a new friend! Or is this a relation of Mr. Longbottom's dear Trevor?"  
  
Snape gawked at him in horror before croaking furiously again, bulging eyes, well...bulgy. "Albus, this is no time for jokes! This is a very serious matter."  
  
But Dumbledore just continued smiling at him before turning back to Harry, motioning him into the room. "He is an agitated little fellow, isn't he? I once had a horny toad that would work himself into a frantic state. My great aunt Mildred would always tell me, 'Ernie, the way to any creature's heart is through its stomach. Lemon drops are always the cure!' Pity she could never remember my name."  
  
He promptly picked one up from a dish on the desk and popped it into Snape's open mouth.  
  
Harry stared at him in slack jawed shock, wondering if the Headmaster had finally lost his marbles as Snape sputtered and spat out the lemon drop, tongue lolling out of his mouth in disgust. "You mean... You can't hear him, sir?"  
  
Dumbledore's bushy white eyebrows rose. "Hear him, my boy? Of course I can hear him."  
  
"But...it's Professor Snape, sir! Weren't you listening?" he asked, eyes wide. Snape, for his part, continued shouting at the man in his small croaking voice.  
  
"Professor Snape?" The Headmaster looked down at him from over his half moon spectacles. "What am I supposed to be listening to, Harry?"  
  
"The _frog_, sir! Professor Snape is the _frog_!" He held up Snape to prove his point, the Potions Master ranting and raving at Dumbledore from his little frog form.  
  
The old man looked amused and he bent over, peering at Snape closely. "Severus? Is that you, my dear boy? Whatever did you do to yourself?"  
  
Snape seethed with anger. One might even say he was...hopping mad, if they didn't mind losing their right arm soon after. "Yes, of course it's me you doddering old fool! Haven't you been listening? It's _the boy_ who's done this to me!"  
  
"Now, now, Severus. There's no need to get testy. Would you like another lemon drop?" Snape paled, or would have if he could, cringing away from him. Dumbledore smiled genially. "No? Well if you're sure." He popped one into his own mouth, looking thoughtfully at Harry. "Am I to understand that you can hear what Professor Snape is saying, Harry?"  
  
He blinked at him in surprise. "Yes, sir. Can't you?"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. As they say, 'it's all Greek to me'." He went back around his desk, seating himself and folding his hands upon it. "Do you know how this happened, Harry?"  
  
Harry hesitated a moment, before sighing, relating the events of the past hour or so.

-----  
  
Afterward, Dumbledore sat in quiet contemplation, sucking thoughtfully on his fourth lemon drop. He'd, of course, tried transfiguring Snape back into a man, but as it was not a spell which had turned him in the first place, it had no effect on his newly amphibian form.  
  
"And you're sure, Severus, that you know of no counter potion for this?" the Headmaster asked him, for the third time, Harry noted.  
  
"Senile old fool...if I knew of a blasted counter potion I would have used it!" Snape grumbled from the desk, looking disdainfully at a lizard paperweight, which was studying him curiously.  
  
"He's sure, sir," Harry translated for the old wizard.  
  
"Well then...I'm afraid you're stuck, for the time being. Harry, as you have been given detentions for the next week, you will spend them researching for a cure with Professor Snape."  
  
Harry blinked. "Me, sir?"  
  
"Why yes, my boy. After all, it would seem you are the only one who understands what Professor Snape is saying, making it essential that you aid him and care for him until he has been restored."  
  
"_Care for me_?!" Snape demanded furiously, just as Harry exclaimed something of a similar nature, canceling the need to translate.  
  
Dumbledore looked amused, but nodded seriously. "Harry, what you've done, unintentional or otherwise, is your responsibility and you must accept the consequences, including making sure your Professor comes to no harm in his vulnerable state."  
  
"But, sir-"  
  
"What about my classes, Headmaster? You don't intend to have substitutions until this thing is through? Once the Dark Lord hears of my absence, he will grow suspicious," Snape said seriously. Harry translated.  
  
"I have considered this, Severus. Do you have any Polyjuice Potion in your stores?" he asked, looking down at the frog as if they were having a normal conversation. Snape didn't and Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Then I'm afraid I'll have no choice..."  
  
Harry felt an air of trepidation as he turned to one of the portraits on the wall, tensing slightly. No choice but to what?  
  
"Gillespie," he began, looking at a wizened witch with frizzy pink hair. "Would you find Nymphadora for me, please? Tell her it's urgent."  
  
"_No_," Snape gasped, horrified and would have gone pale again, had he been able.  
  
Harry tried really hard not to laugh. He really truly did. "T-Tonks?! You're going to have _Tonks_ stand in for _Snape_?" he burst out, laughing until his face turned almost purple, gasping for breath.  
  
Dumbledore hid a smile in a way that it still shone through his eyes. "_Professor_ Snape, Harry," he reminded. "And yes, Nymphadora is the only person capable of keeping Professor Snape's current...condition a secret from the school and the enemy."  
  
The thought of Snape with bright pink hair sent Harry into another round of raucous laughter, tears now streaming down his face.  
  
Snape looked livid.

-----  
  
"Can't believe I have to do this..." Harry grumbled as he finally trudged up to Gryffindor tower a few hours later, Snape in hand again. He'd had to stay while Tonks rearranged her features into that of the Potions Master, a rather hilarious debacle.  
  
"Mr. Potter, if you think _I_ am in any way pleased with the outcome of these events, you are most assuredly mistaken," Snape muttered darkly.  
  
Harry glowered, but didn't say anything more. It was completely unfair that he was going to have to carry Snape everywhere he went until he was cured. Completely! Why couldn't Dumbledore or Hagrid or anyone else do it! Sure, they couldn't understand him, but that was a _bonus_ as far as Harry was concerned!  
  
Sighing tiredly, he gave the password to the Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole, almost smashing Snape into the wall. On accident, of course.  
  
"Mr. Potter! While in the past seventeen years you may not have achieved enough mastery over your body not to go running into walls, I hope you will not be too troubled to please show some _effort_ for once!" Snape said grouchily and Harry wondered how he managed to stay such a prat even at this hour of the morning.  
  
"Sorry, Professor..." he mumbled sleepily.  
  
"Professor?" Hermione questioned from the fireplace, looking up from her textbook.  
  
Harry jumped in surprise, hand tightening around Snape who croaked in pain. "Hermione! What are you doing up?"  
  
"Reading, obviously and waiting for you to get back." Her brow furrowed slightly. "Who were you talking to? You said 'Professor'," she added, just in case he tried to deny it. "And...where did you get that frog?" She got up, coming over to peer at Snape. Sometimes Hermione was too clever and too curious for her own good.  
  
"Oh! This...this is a gift! From...Professor Snape! That's his name! Professor! I was, um...talking to him! You know...to sound less crazy than if I was talking to myself!" Harry said quickly, laughing nervously. Dumbledore had stressed the importance of keeping Snape a secret, even to his friends.  
  
Snape made a sound of disgust. "Potter, an infant could lie better than you."  
  
"A...gift?" Hermione repeated, looking at Harry like he'd grown another head. "_Snape_ gave _you_ a gift?"  
  
Harry bristled slightly. "That's what I said isn't it? It's supposed to...teach me something about something! As a part of my detention! You know...like homework!"  
  
Immediately Hermione's disposition changed as he said the magic word. Homework. "Oh really? How fascinating, but you can't remember what you're supposed to be learning from it? That's terribly irresponsible of you, Harry." She frowned disapprovingly.  
  
"I know, Herm..." he said sheepishly, mentally smirking at Snape. An infant, huh? "I guess it got so late that I just forgot, you know? I'm really tired..." He yawned to prove his point. "I'll go back and ask Snape in the morning what it's for again. He'll have to tell me if he wants to criticize me every step of the way!"  
  
They both laughed at that and Snape rather noticeably didn't comment, remaining still in Harry's sweaty hand.  
  
After a moment, Hermione smiled at him. "Would you like me to help you set up an enclosure for him?"  
  
Harry shook his head, yawning again. "Nah, thanks... Maybe in the morning, I'm too tired to breath right now." He headed up the stairs on the boy's side, waving back at her. "Night, Herm!"  
  
She waved back, returning to her book. "Night, Harry." She laughed. "Night, Professor! Welcome to Gryffindor!"

--TBC--  
  
Chapter Two! Huzzah! Now to start on Chapter -gasp- Three! Review me! It helps to inspire, I swear! Plus, comment whore, remember?


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